Happy Valentine's Day
by ComesFromCorn
Summary: So how exactly does a yandere go about proving her love to a new beau?


_Budo didn't know what Ayano was doing here. Or, really for that matter, what _he_ was doing here._

_...Well, okay, so he did a little. He'd been _feeling_ the stress lately. Classes, club activities, college, __**murder**__, it was all closing in on him and his friends were starting to _notice._ Guilt had spiked along with a warm rush of sibling-like affection at their genuine and obvious concern. But these were things that he couldn't -didn't want- to talk about, and he didn't know how to assuage their fears. _

_So he'd let Sho talk him into coming out tonight where he'd clearly experienced a 'what the hell' moment because he hadn't protested the way he should have, the way he normally _would _have, when his friend had pressed that first drink into his hand. There was really only one way things could go from there._

_And they had _**gone**_._

_But Ayano? _

_It wasn't that she didn't have friends, in fact she was friendly with nearly everyone. But they were all superficial, shallow relationships that she kept tucked in her back pocket on the off chance they might some day be useful. And the only thing that would have her crashing a party was the promise of Taro Yamada's presence at the same one. Which couldn't be right because he..._wasn't_. He didn't think. Couldn't remember seeing him at any rate, though Budo knew at this point he was a pretty unreliable witness. _

_Maybe there was a 'rival' around somewhere? Oh God, he hoped not, he was in no condition to intervene._

_He'd never seen her in casual clothes before and it clicked his stupid high school crush up a notch. She was in a fitted, emerald green t-shirt that hugged her curves and showed off her torso, and a pair of bright blue jean shorts cut just high enough he could see the lacy white fringe of her typical back stockings. Her hair was tied up in it's usual ponytail that he always wanted to run his fingers through, tug the band out of, and watch fall down about her shoulders..._

_Oh man, was he drooling? Like _actually_ drooling? _

_And _then _he_ _met her eyes. God he loved her eyes. Calm, cold, _dangerous_, the color of ice over still water that he could just fall into. Had fallen into more than once. And he knew she would drown him if he let her._

_But observing people was Ayano's hobby. She's _good_ at it. Years of watching and mimicking what she saw in others had made her a veritable Sherlock Holmes, and something about that cold, stoic gaze always seemed to have him stuck, frozen in place and feeling exposed in a way he never had before. _

_Like now for example. _

_Ayano was a dangerous person to ever let catch you on the back foot, but mostly he really just only ever wanted to be the best possible version of himself in front of her. And he couldn't be further from that right now._

_He suddenly wanted very much to leave. Or for a hole to appear in the floor and swallow him, which, given his current state of inebriation and the ridiculous maze-like structure of the house, was actually the more likely scenario. But he just...stood there, embarrassed by this latest empty paper cup in his hand and the alcohol flush in his face, unable to do anything more than shift uncomfortably and let those cold, dark eyes flick him up and down like a full body scan. _

_She blinked once. Processing, obviously trying to reconcile the image in front of her with the exemplary, if a little over the top, _heroic_ personality that she knew._

_Budo briefly wondered exactly what sort of image he did present at the moment. Like Ayano, he was dressed in casual clothes, a nice black t-shirt, a little on the snug side that he knew accentuated the lean lines and muscles his years of Martial Arts training had developed, and a pair looser fitting gray jeans. Nice but not dressy. His hair certainly felt a little messy, but that wasn't so unusual, especially when he didn't have his Martial Arts headband keeping it in place. He suspected his eyes were probably sort of glassy, but that was just a guess based on the trouble he was having focusing on any one thing for more than a few seconds; he couldn't be sure without a mirror._

_Processing evidently complete, he watched one eyebrow raise, disappearing beneath her bangs. Her lips quirked upward around a laugh; a smirk he could _hear _laced around her voice, "Do you need a hand?"_

_And he couldn't challenge any of it because he _did_._

_Humiliation palpable in every move, he let the empty cup slip from his fingers and, addressing her (Cute!) black ribboned ballet flats, mustered up the remaining dregs of his dignity._

_"I swear if you start clapping..."_

_Misguided affections aside, Budo was not _stupid_; he seriously questioned the wisdom of, however incidentally, allowing Ayano potential future access to his home. Unfortunately, contrary to what thriller movies and Young Adult novels may have to say about it, the short walk home had done absolutely _nothing_ to help sober him up. In fact, if anything, his balance and coordination only seemed to further deteriorate leaving him leaning increasingly heavily on his unlikely savior._

_And while he knew he _had _his keys, digging them out was looking more and more like a vital life skill with an unreasonably high difficulty level. Budo was sure the attempt would have him with all his pockets turned out, face down in the yard._

_Instead Ayano balanced on the tips of her toes, right hand groping blindly for the spare hidden in the gutter where it swept low over the front door. Her left clutched his arm in a grip he expected he would see in the morning. Occasionally he'd feel her weight shift one way or another as he swayed standing still, perfectly toeing the line between acquiring their prize and holding him basically upright._

_Ayano was small, slightly built and slender, but there was steel woven through her bones. _

_Which was just _unfair_ because Budo really did not need another quality about her to admire._

_Even so there were still about five minutes of just struggling with the lock before they spilled in through the doorway. His arm thrown loosely over her shoulder while her own looped more firmly around his waist, fingers gripping his hip and keeping him steady even as his feet tangled up with each other and pitched them both forward._

_Her free hand reached out and patted at the wall, ran along along it searchingly. "Is there a light switch around here somewhere?" _

_He groaned a little, nodding toward the opposite wall, and oh was _that _a mistake. "Ugh, o-other side of room. By the kitchen."_

_Okay, that hadn't come out quite as coherently as it had been in his head, but the point must have gotten across because he could feel the 'you've got to be kidding me' in the atmosphere, and shrugged as much as he was able without throwing off their hard won equilibrium. He couldn't say he'd ever actually thought about the light-switches scattered throughout his house or the level of convenience regarding their placement in its various rooms. _

_It was amazing what perspective could do. _

_"Okay," she drawled dryly, nothing if not adaptable, and readjusted his arm more securely around her shoulder. Pressing the heal of her hand against his side to get him moving, "Stumbling around in the dark it is."_

_By the time she'd poured him onto the couch, her own impressive reserves of stamina were apparently approaching bottom, and she collapsed inelegantly beside him._

_"Ayano," he started softly._

_She practically growled, recent events definitely catching up with her, "Do not apologize ag-"_

_"Thank you." He murmured with as much sincerity as he was able. She turned toward him as if his words or tone surprised her. It confused him; his sincere gratitude seemed the least she was owed. "I mean, I just, I realized hadn't...said that...yet. So, thanks. For, you know, " he swept his hand out clumsily in a vague encompassing gesture, "This."_

_She hummed slightly, an appreciative, pleased trill in her voice. "No problem."_

_"Heh. Liar," he scoffed. _

_She chuckled beside him and he thought it might be his favorite sound. It wasn't loud and rambunctious, or soft and tinkling, or even particularly happy; it was actually quite low and rough with dry with humor. But it was the first time he'd ever heard her laugh just because she wanted to. Because something amused her. Not because she knew she was supposed to or she was trying to gain someone's trust. _

_It brought a drowsy smile to his face; the disturbed longing and disappointment he usually felt where Ayano was concerned whisper thin and far away, replaced by something he couldn't quite identify. But it was warm and comfortable, and it made him feel happy just knowing it was there. A nice feeling, he decided, and worth the more common ones he didn't like as much. _

_These thoughts, thick and syrupy slow, and his heavy eyelids suggested he was probably falling asleep. _But that's alright_, he thought as he gazed at her with half-lidded eyes. Bathed in the stream of moonlight from the window, his hazy eyes viewed something otherworldly. Ethereal._

_Ivory skin seemed to shimmer in the pale light. Dark hair shone in tones of blue and black. Her still-water eyes almost glowed._

_A goddess sent to walk among the mortals. Or a mischievous demon._

_It was alright; he had this moment. He hoped it would follow him into his dreams._

_Dreamy eyes drifting closed, he bent at the waist and gently pressed his lips to hers..._

_...It took all of a second for Budo to realize what he'd done._

_He tried to stand, to scramble away from her. Desperate to get some distance between them. To give her _space_. Of course his balance being what it currently was and gravity being an inescapable, unforgiving fact of life, he was very quickly on his ass in front of the couch and inches away from cracking his head off the corner of the coffee table._

_Suddenly wide awake, he stared at the girl in front of him, hands shaking with horror and denial because he had not just done that. There was no way he'd just done that._

_But there was Ayano, rod straight, tense and coiled like a bow string ready to snap. Cold, dark eyes were wide and unfocused, pupils blown in shock, staring at nothing. Fingers brushed her lips in disbelief as if she might find his phantom touch lingering on her skin. She even emitted this startled little squeak that sounded so odd coming from someone so ruthless- _and how could he have done that?!

_Especially after she had been so kind as to half-carry his drunk butt home. She hadn't even taken the ample opportunities for mischief. _

_Hell, he had even flagged Ayano's assistance as _his _potential 'elimination'. He wasn't competing for Taro's attention, but he'd certainly made a nuisance of himself. And he knew that Ayano, determined, unstable, __**ruthless**__, considered him a threat to her 'happy ending'._

_It would have been easy, much easier than the alternative had been. But she didn't. She'd simply gotten him home just like she'd told him she would._

_And he had..._

_He'd never been so disappointed in himself._

_Hot tears ripe with anger and self-loathing welled in his eyes, a thousand apologies on his lips-_

_And Ayano swallowed all of them._

_The kiss was awkwardly angled, Ayano stretched across the couch, leaning over him at nearly a right angle, artless and sloppy with inexperience. But something warm exploded in his chest, seeped out across his skin and settled into his bones. Her tongue experimentally lapped against his own and he swore his heart stopped. She _moved _her mouth, deepened the kiss, and he saw stars. Her fingers sunk into his hair, tugging firmly, angling his head where she wanted it, and he _groaned_, a low needy sound somewhere deep in the back of his throat._

_His hands reached for her of their own accord, empty and wanting and eager. His knuckles skimmed along the smooth skin her face, fingers brushed the curve of her cheek, skirted the angle of her jaw, and she sighed into his mouth. He gently kneaded the muscles at the base of her neck, cradled the back of her skull, and she bit his lip, a pleased hum vibrating between them when the action elicited another groan. That hair tie gave way under his tentative pulling, and-finally!- all that pretty, dark hair spilled down. He couldn't see it, eyes closed and focused as he was on all the lovely things her mouth was doing, but he could feel it tumble down around them and the scent of strawberries exploded in his nose. It was just as soft as he'd always imagined; he couldn't keep his hands out of it._

_Sparks danced across his skin, gasoline in his veins. And they _ignited_. _

_And he marveled at that because everything about Ayano was always so cold; the ice in her eyes, the chill in her voice, the steel in her bones. But now she was all heat and sparks and _flame_, and he could do nothing but let her burn him from the inside out. _

_Somewhere deep inside a patient, persistent voice, warned him that he should stop...this. Ayano was _dangerously _in love with Taro, and wherever this ended up, it was not going to be good. Budo knew that._

_But he was drunk, and she was gorgeous, and he this wanted so, so much..._

_The next morning, Budo woke with a headache and the certainty that some small unfortunate creature had crawled into his mouth and died. It was the only explanation for the cotton in his mouth and sickly sour taste around the top of his throat._

_He was tucked into his bed, a pair of aspirin and the biggest bottle of water he'd ever seen setting on his nightstand. The sight of the water brought rapid awareness of the sandpaper he was currently breathing around, and he swallowed both as quickly as he dared. His brain beginning to wade through the soup of his consciousness, he wondered how he'd made it up the stairs._

_His small bedroom garbage can had been helpfully emptied and placed next to the bed well within easy reach should its services be required. He hadn't attempted standing yet, but the water at least seemed to be sitting okay, so he held out a little hope that back up could remain on stand by. _

_Ayano (It must have been her. He certainly hadn't been any kind of shape to take care of himself, and all this forward thinking would have definitely eluded him.) had even thought to set his alarm before she left. That didn't do much for his headache sure, but, while _not _feeling up to his morning routine, it did give him plenty of time for a __**long **__shower, some breakfast, and a lot more water before rushing off to class with the bell in his ears and feeling only slightly like death warmed over._

_His latest text chain was a barrage of increasingly frantic messages from Sho, scrolling through which had _him _feeling increasingly panicked and guilty at the reminder that, no actually, he had not been out alone last night. And that, no, he had not bothered to give his friends any sort of indication that was not face down in ditch somewhere. Until he got to the last one._

_Sorry, phone must've been on vibrate for a while. He's pretty out of it, but he's home now. Don't worry. -Ayano_

_His brow furrowed in confusion as he stared at the text, wondering how she'd known his password and why she'd been looking at his phone in the first place. But questions without immediate answers made his head hurt at the moment so he shrugged it off grateful for her intervention._

_Ayano's complete disregard for social boundaries didn't get him off the hook exactly, but her explanation was concise and to the point, giving Sho all of the information he needed to know that his friend wasn't by himself passed out in a parking lot somewhere without really telling him much of anything at all. And if he did press for further details when they met up later, Budo could easily plead mental fuzziness or a horrific hangover. Both of which were essentially true and would be more than enough to satisfy his friend's concerned curiosity._

_Everything from the moment they had run into each other at that party was between him and Ayano. He would not discuss it with anyone unless and until he had discussed it with her._

_Which was actually turning out to be a lot harder than it sounded. His right-on-time arrival to school meant he'd had to head directly to class, so he hadn't had a chance to seek her out beforehand. Her penchant for joining a club long enough to master one or two skills before dropping it and moving on made her schedule unpredictable; she could literally be anywhere on campus at any given time. The general vicinity of 'wherever Taro happened to be' was pretty good starting point, but that was only if she wasn't actively involved in a 'rival elimination' which could be anything from befriending a target to dragging a body home in a cello case. And it would still involve searching through bushes and behind walls and generally attracting more attention than he could deal with at the moment._

_The fact that she was friends with pretty much everyone but not particularly close to anyone meant that everyone had seen her and no one knew where she was._

_Budo left his club that evening feeling both discouraged and strangely relieved. He did want to talk to her, he really did, but he'd had all day to think about it, had thought about basically nothing else, and he still didn't know what to say. What he _should _say. What he wanted to say. What she wanted to hear. And though he felt much better than when he'd first woken up, he still didn't feel particularly well. Not a good omen for a heavy conversation._

_Also if he was being honest with himself, and he usually tried to be, part of him was a little disappointed she didn't seem to want to talk to him. His morning routine had been thrown off by his slow start and late -for him- arrival, but otherwise, _his _schedule was_ _predictable. His club-mates set their watches by him. He wasn't hard to find. _

_So if she hadn't ...that must mean she wasn't looking. There could be a million reasons for that, and he hadn't decided how he felt about it._

_Then he turned the corner in the hallway, and what he felt was the wind being knocked out him._

_Taro had one hand resting lightly, cautiously, on her hip. The other cradled her jaw. His back was against the lockers, and Ayano's hand fisted in his shirt, his mouth drug down to hers, fingers tangled in his hair. One leg was inserted between both of his, the other hooked around his ankle pinning her senpai in place. There was no questioning who in control._

_Budo dropped his bag._

_Part of him insisted this was a Good Thing. Ayano had gotten her 'happy ending'; _he_ should be happy about that. She would be less volatile. The school would be safer. _

_But most of him was crushed..._

_The couple jerked apart and turned toward the sound. Toward him._

_...Which was stupid. He'd known how she felt about Taro. One night on the couch did not change that. It didn't make them anything. Didn't __**mean **__anything. And being with him must have given her the confidence she needed to approach Taro the way she'd always wanted. _

_Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Taro, flushed and hazy-eyed, blinked at him, mostly confused. Read the atmosphere but didn't understand._

_Ayano turned _white_._

_Calmly, he knelt to the floor. _

_This was silly; it didn't matter, she'd already seen the most vulnerable parts of him. And he couldn't hide anything from her anyway. But for some reason he was determined she would not see any more._

_He picked up his bag._

_Calm. He _would _be calm. He would walk. He would not run. And if he cried, it would not be in front of her. _

_He turned on his heel and, back straight and head up, headed back the way he'd come. _

_"Budo!" He could hear the sharp staccato, deafening in the quiet hallway, as she chased after him. He did not give himself the chance to wonder why. He didn't turn around. Kept walking._

_"It's fine, Ayano." And it was. It _was_. He would tell himself that, keep the loop on repeat inside his head, until it was true. He would make it true. _

_"It was just an experiment."_

_He choked out a laugh._

_"No! _No_! I didn't me- I just- kissing you was _incredible-_"_

_"Gee thanks!" He cheered with false brightness._

_"I just needed to-"_

_"Stop please." She did not owe him an explanation and he did not want one._

_"Budo, _listen _to me," she insisted, grabbing his hand and forearm with both hands. He pointedly ignored the sparks racing up and down his arm at the skin on skin contact. _

_"_Stop please_," he repeated firmly. He did not wrench his arm away from her, he gently disentangled himself from her her grip, hating that he missed the lovely satin over steel sensation of her fingers wrapped tight around the limb, "It's my own fault."_

_Ayano was like a moth drawn to Taro's flame. Mindless, instinctive, mesmerized by his presence. So certain their destinies intertwined. Every move she made, every breath she took, everything she _was; _ it was all for Taro. Budo had always known he couldn't compete with someone who only needed to _exist _to make her feel alive. So it was his own fault if he was hurting now. _

_"Nothing with me could ever mean anything to you," he hated the way his voice cracked, hated that he always wore his feelings so blatantly on his sleeves. And he wished that once, just once, she couldn't so completely see all of him. "I know that. I _knew _that. I'm just the idiot who let it mean something to me."_

_This time when he walked away she didn't follow._

Budo shuts his eyes tightly around these thoughts, presses his forehead against the door and just _breathes_ until doing so doesn't hurt anymore. But he's never been very good at hiding from himself and when he opens them again, unsurprisingly, nothing has changed.

He's never been hurt like this before. There is no wound, or if there is, it's somewhere inside, and he can't just slap a cast on it. Numb it with an ice pack. Keep it still. He has to let this one run it's course and the only cure for that is time. But he's coming apart at the seams and doesn't know what to do with himself.

Because he doesn't want to, of course his eyes drift up to the low hanging gutter above the door. He really should take a look, make sure that key was returned, but just the thought stirs up things it physically hurts to think about and he just c_an't_.

These's nothing wrong with his key. His parents won't be back until next weekend, and, barring some unforeseen travel glitch, he very much doubts the first thing either of them asks about will be the spare house key. So it's really nothing that needs his immediate attention anyway. And just to prove it, Budo pointedly averts his gaze and pushes open the front door.

The emptiness of the house has been paradoxically comforting and overwhelming. Despite his loud, extroverted personality, Budo dislikes spotlight attention, and both his parents are hover-ers. He cringes at the thought of all the well-intentioned coddling and egg-shell walking that is sure to be triggered by his current mood. He's getting enough of that at school, and unlike his club-mates, a few pointed answers and warning looks are unlikely to ward off his mom and dad.

But at the same time, he just wants to throw himself sobbing into his mother's arms while she, however ineffectively, _promises_ that regardless of how he feels right now, everything really will be okay.

Option taken out of his hands, Budo mechanically toes out of his shoes, dropping his bag in the corner by the door before trudging into the living room proper en route to the kitchen, eyes drawn magnet-like to to the couch he warns himself not to look at-

"What the f-?!" A particularly troublesome patch of air nearly has his feet out from under him, his house not nearly as empty as he'd thought.

The room is shadowy and dim in the low evening light, but he can make out the figure laying on his couch, head pillowed on the armrest, body turned toward the door.

His startled outburst having produced no reaction, Budo abandons his quest to distract himself with dinner, instead approaching the occupied furniture, probably with less caution than is advisable.

"Taro?"

Eyes closed and features smoothed and peaceful, hands folded comfortably across his stomach, his friend might almost be asleep. Were it not for the deep, wet hole in his chest.

Layers of skin and muscle have been carefully pealed back and pinned, ribs cracked apart and set aside. Now that he understands what he's looking at, Budo realizes what he'd thought were shadows is actually a large heavy tarp draped protectively over the couch, spread out across the floor on all sides. Liquid he chooses not to look at too closely is running down the stiff fabric, splattered in little droplets.

The light flicks on. Slowly, robotically, Budo turns toward the light-switch. On the opposite wall from the front door. By the kitchen.

And there, as he'd known she would be, is Ayano.

She is resplendent in red, a long strapless dress with a slit to the thigh and a sweetheart neckline. It's made of some silky, shiny material that _moves_ with her like liquid on her skin. Despite his shock and mounting horror, Budo can't help but think she's lovely.

Her red-painted lips are curved in an odd smile, and clutched to her chest is a typical heart shaped chocolate box.

There is a strange, dark stain on its bottom.

Still water eyes fall on Taro, and for a moment, her feature cloud in something like regret. But then she turns her attention back to him, and just like that its gone. She smiles for him, brilliant, excited. A happy, breathless sound escapes her lips and she rushes to him, pressing herself against his side as she proudly presents him with her gift.

A lingering kiss to his cheek, her voice a whisper against his skin.

"Happy Valentine's Day."


End file.
